


Counting up the hours

by chamberswashere



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: AC3, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-29
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-19 20:38:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamberswashere/pseuds/chamberswashere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shaun and Desmond cling to what little time they have left together.  Spoilers for those who haven't finished AC3</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counting up the hours

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Wake Up Kiss](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/14005) by Fiothin. 



> There will be smut at some point but not too much. At this point I don't know where. With these two, I imagine it happens spontaneously, especially with how much different Desmond is going to approach his "destiny." 
> 
> I didn't really like the way that Desmond woke up from his coma at the end of Revelations, so the first chapter is my reinterpretation or rather head canon of Desmond waking up with added Shaun/Des fluff. ;]
> 
> WARNING: There will be spoilers throughout this fic and a major spoiler at the end. So if that bothers you don't read this until you have finished AC3. This is going to be really painful. I must be masochistic or something because I always do this to myself.
> 
> Muse: Be Here Now by Ray Lamontagne

 

Don’t lose your faith in me  
And I will try not to lose faith in you.  
Don’t put your trust in walls  
‘Cause walls will only crush you when they fall.

* * *

Everyone had become anxious for this moment but it seemed to happen out of nowhere without warning. He was monitored closely, cleaned regularly (a duty that Shaun wished he could take up himself), and more often than not, just watched. They spent the long weeks in near silence waiting for Desmond to wake up, hoping he wouldn’t be stuck in his own sub-conscious mind for an indefinite period of time.

Each member of their neat little faction had their reasons for trying to keep that hope alive. Shaun’s were undoubtedly the most pure and simple. He loved Desmond and that was that. The silence that accompanied his usual rants on history and architecture made him feel unbearably lonely and irritable. The sad man spent as much time as he could nearby, consoled only by the occasional opportunity to make physical contact and Rebecca’s looks of pity. She knew but didn’t say anything. It was better that way, less painful without the reminder of what happened in that temple.

Rebecca was just tired of witnessing the torture the poor kid had to go through just because of the stupid people in the stupid world he was born into. She hated the idea of destiny and didn’t think that anyone should have their decisions made for them by someone else. Wasn’t that the whole point of being an assassin, fighting for free will? But it seemed like Desmond never had a choice in the matter and no one could do much to change that. Oh how she wished she could.

Desmond’s father, William, on the other hand, acted under mysterious motivations. He barked orders and they were followed without much of an explanation. Shaun and Rebecca wanted to believe that his intentions were good but talking to that old man trying to figure that out made it hard for them to understand, especially after everything Desmond went through. The decisions he made didn’t seem to be in the best interests of his own son.

When it happened, no one was really paying attention to him. The only person in the room was Rebecca who was in the process of making some tweaks on the animus. To be completely honest, there was a danger to this “tweaking” when someone was inside, but it had to be done otherwise she would overheat. The ambitious engineer was actually excited about the plans she had been making for future repairs and upgrades on her baby.

She clipped wires and recalibrated the system, pausing only to make sure she wasn’t in the wrong place, severing the wrong cord. As she was rummaging underneath with a wire cutter and a screwdriver, she felt some movement from above. Carefully removing herself from the mess of wires, she stood up to make sure Desmond was okay. Sometimes he shifted in his sleep and just had to be readjusted. The nurse had taught each of them what to do in such a situation. But what she saw made her drop her tools and stare in bewilderment.

“Rebecca?”

Desmond Miles had disconnected from the animus and was trying to push himself up.

“Sh- Shaun,” she stuttered, too quiet for anyone to hear. “Shaun, come in here quick,” a little louder. “SHAUN!” And she bolted out the door to retrieve the man in question.

When she returned, she was pushing Shaun into the room with both palms firmly pressed against his back. Either Shaun didn’t believe what she had tried to communicate to him or the weight of the information she brought had a paralytic effect on his limbs. Nevertheless, he had difficulty moving forward and was fumbling to keep his glasses on straight. Once he was completely through the doorway, Rebecca sneaked out and, before shutting the door on her little recruit’s face, called, “I’m getting the nurse!” She left the two disoriented men alone, deliberately walking as slowly as she possibly could to her destination.

Although Desmond had been trying to sit himself upright earlier, he was now lying back down on the animus again trying to remember where he was. But his efforts were in vain and his body slumped from the overload of sensory images is brain was receiving. The moments that followed were rather chaotic. No one was thinking straight, and you can be certain that no one would be for several hours. In the absence of clear thoughts, instead of helping him relax and regain his perceptions in a gradual manner, Shaun damn near made Desmond’s head explode by leaning in for a kiss.

For Desmond, it seemed to happen in slow motion and once Shaun was on him it felt forced and almost too much. Shaun’s right knee was resting on the seat of the animus next to Desmond’s thigh, the fingers of his left hand dug into his shoulder, the right dangerously close to a sore ass. That was not how Shaun was usually affectionate. It wasn’t bad or wrong, but it certainly wasn’t something Desmond was used to and, to be frank, it frightened him.

Something must be wrong. Something must have gone horribly wrong, he thought with dread. He tried to pull away by turning his head to face in any direction that was not Shaun’s. Left. Right. Up. Down. He squirmed and writhed and became very uncomfortable.

“Desmond,” Shaun crooned. “It’s okay, Desmond. I haven’t touched you.” A pause. “Yet.”

Desmond opened his eyes to find out that he was telling the truth. He was close, but not close enough and he didn’t betray signs of his making that kind of aggressive contact. The only look on his face was a look of concern and something else he knew Shaun would never admit. Having pulled up a chair beside him, Shaun placed a hand on his knee in a comforting position. Shaun examined his features with furrowed brows. He looked hurt. That realization hit Desmond like a ton of bricks. Even though he knew it wasn’t really his fault, he couldn’t help but feel guilty. Shaun’s expression seemed to say, I’ve been waiting for you.

“I’m sorry,” Desmond managed, but it barely came out even as a whisper.

His voice was weak and dry from lack of use. He tried to say more but instead of producing sounds, his vocal chords lurched violently and a spasm ripped through his body from the top of his throat to the bottom of his diaphragm, causing him to retch and cough. Shaun frantically scrambled to the mini-fridge in the corner of the room for a bottle of water. Fumbling with the sealed lid, he squeezed the bottle with his sweaty fingers, wrenching it open so that about a third of the precious water burst out and spilled on his sweater. Finding this extremely amusing, Desmond grinned and let out a raspy chuckle.

“Don’t laugh at me, you twit!” Shaun exclaimed, but not without some amusement of his own.

Grasping the back of Desmond’s neck gently, he lifted his head up and slowly tilted the bottle against his lips. The man being cared for disregarded Shaun’s gentleness by drinking greedily, trying to overturn the bottle completely. There wasn’t much his caregiver could do to fix that because by the time he was finally able to wrench the bottle away from Desmond without hurting him or causing some kind of violent brawl, the water was gone. He tossed it into the trash with a sigh and a roll of his eyes, but also an added smile of tenderness and relief.

Shaun leaned forward again with his hands unthreatening but firm on the armrests of the animus, this time truly going in for the kill. Desmond understood that he wasn’t in any kind of danger and that it just wouldn’t do to resist. The kiss itself didn’t last as long as you would expect it to, given the circumstances. The prolonged physical separation had been especially difficult for Shaun. The subject of his affection was always in his field of vision, so close and yet so far. But he knew any violation of their boundaries would have painful repercussions later on.

For Desmond, the length of the kiss didn’t matter. This particular kiss was like a caress and spoke more to him than any words Shaun could think to voice. And that was saying a lot. Shaun always had something to say. Their lips met and they were still, trying to remember the taste and smell of each other. Shaun ended it with a quick peck to the cheek and pulled away, sitting back down on the tiny plastic chair he had hastily kicked away earlier.

There was a knock at the door. The doorknob clicked. Whoever was on the other side knocked again, louder this time. Neither man moved. After sitting there staring at each other for a few moments, Desmond and Shaun snickered, trying to keep their voices low. For Desmond, it was easy. The now slightly less irritable historian stood up and sauntered to the door with swinging hips. At least, they looked like they were swinging, from a certain disoriented man’s perspective that is.

Desmond craned his neck to see who had come to the door. He could only see Shaun’s back and an occasional nodding of the head. But soon, Rebecca managed to squeeze herself in around Shaun and take his spot on the tiny chair. A lady with a white box came into the room as well, and Desmond watched her open it to reveal bags of clear fluid, syringes, and all kinds of other unpleasant doctor things. Seeing the expression on Desmond’s face in response to the equipment that she knew could only help him, Rebecca provided a distraction.

“Hey, we missed you, buddy,” she said, sounding pleasant and feeling optimistic for the first time in a long time. “Especially Mr. Googly-eyes over here,” she added, cocking her head in Shaun’s direction. They heard a voice, angry, barking to no one in particular. Barking into a phone. Of course they all knew who it was, but no one said anything. Desmond knew too. It was his father, William.

“Don’t worry. He doesn’t know.” A pause.

“At least, we haven’t told him,” Shaun corrected with a suspicious glare directed at Rebecca.

“Hey! I haven’t said anything about you two lo-“

“What’s the situation, Desmond?” his father asked curtly. “Did you learn anything from your time in the animus?”

Rebecca and Shaun both winced but Desmond’s reply was surprisingly calm and definitely clear.

“Yes.” Cough. “I know what we need to do.”


End file.
